


feast for the senses

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Decadence, First Kiss, First Time, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, gratuitous use of velvet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25301548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: “Come, bring me the soap,” Jaskier said, gesturing at the cabinet nearby, and for some reason Geralt obeyed. The water was dark by candlelight and obscured by steam, but Geralt raked his gaze over the surface anyway, searching for more. Jaskier caught him looking and his eyes widened, though he covered it quickly with a smirk. “It’s hard not to look, isn’t it?”~~~A hot bath, a velvet bed, and a wise bard. Geralt does his best not to need anything, and Jaskier does his best to give him everything he can't ask for.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 67
Kudos: 624





	feast for the senses

Geralt’s first instinct was to get the fuck out. He regretted taking the selkiemore contract, he regretted letting Jaskier talk him into playing bodyguard, he regretted that he’d ever even heard of Cintra. The ruffles at his neck were beginning to chafe and choke him, and if all his things hadn’t been in Jaskier’s guest room in the castle he would have already been halfway to the border.

The room, when he entered it at a brisk stride, was already occupied, and he stopped abruptly. Two chambermaids were pouring hot water into the bathtub, and they both looked up at him when the door banged back against the wall. One maid shied away from him immediately, predictably, but the other’s look was steadier.

“Your bath is almost ready, sir,” she said, exchanging her empty bucket for the full one hanging over the fire in the hearth.

“I already had a bath.”

“It’s for me,” said Jaskier behind him, then he was breezing past Geralt into the room, lifting his lute case over his head and setting it down on the table next to a bowl of fruit. He breathed a huffy sigh and began unbuttoning his doublet. The gold buttons winked at Geralt as he eased it off his shoulders and dropped it on the bed. “The gods save me from dramatic nobles and their violent parties. At least I got paid.”

“I thought fancy parties were your favorite thing. Food, women, and wine, and all that,” Geralt muttered as he glanced around for his clothes. He couldn’t find a single scrap of black linen or leather anywhere, and remembered that Jaskier had sent them to be cleaned. They must not have been finished yet, he realized, and ran a hand over his hair in irritation.

“I caught a wine goblet with my face,” Jaskier said, pointing, and sure enough a blue bruise was forming on his cheekbone near his right eye, and Geralt could see the tint of red spilling down his neck into the collar of his shirt. “Princess Pavetta’s outburst damaged my moneymaker.”

“I thought that was your voice,” Geralt said, crossing his arms.

Jaskier glanced at him, his nostrils flaring with indignation as he stripped the shirt over his head. His skin glowed pale by candlelight in the otherwise darkened room, and Geralt looked away. “It’s a combination of talent and beauty, Geralt. How many ugly bards have you seen?”

“It’s just a bruise,” Geralt said with a snort. The two maids bobbed curtsies and left the room, and Geralt could see their eyes lingering on Jaskier with unabashed interest. His injury seemed to be garnering sympathy rather than disgust. "I saw you clutching an eager lady when I left, why aren’t you with her?”

“Well, Geralt, here’s the thing,” Jaskier said, exasperated, as he hopped on one foot to remove one boot and then the other. “The lovely lady you’re referring to was indeed sympathetic, but only because she’d heard a rumor that I’d been emasculated as a child!”

Jaskier pinned Geralt in place with a righteously indignant stare and dropped his trousers. Geralt cleared his throat, feeling the lace collar constricting his air flow again.

“Some thanks I get,” he muttered, turning to look for his armor, which was also missing. His swords, at least, rested on the table opposite Jaskier’s lute. “I saved your life with that story.”

“You know very well that wasn’t what I meant when I asked for your protection.”

“You would have preferred I took the man aside and beat him in front of the entire court?”

Jaskier stopped halfway to the bathtub and put a hand on his naked hip, utterly at ease in his own skin. “Well...when you put it that way, I suppose you’re right. But I still take exception to that particular excuse. You know that rumor is going to follow me.”

Geralt tried to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy proving the rumor false.”

Jaskier grinned suddenly, his warm demeanor returning. “You know me too well, Geralt.”

“I agree.”

“It’s more a question of reputation, though. And obviously there’s nothing wrong with the equipment,” Jaskier continued, and actually gestured at it.

“I don’t need to know that, Jaskier.” It was physically impossible for Geralt’s gaze not to dip down, to follow the arrow of dark hair and linger on Jaskier’s cock, so clearly on display.

Jaskier shrugged indifferently. “As you like,” he replied, but his cheeks were flushed and there was a twinkle in his eye. He turned to the bathtub and climbed in, and Geralt watched his naked back helplessly.

Jaskier let out a long sigh that slowly transformed into a moan as he sank into the water, and Geralt felt as though his feet were rooted to the floor. Jaskier splashed water on his face and tipped his head back to rest on the rim, his mouth and the column of his neck glistening.

“Are you going to come inside, Geralt, or are you just going to hover in the doorway all night?”

Geralt shook his head, trying to clear it. “I have to leave. I just came here for my clothes.”

“You were going to leave without saying goodbye?” Jaskier actually sounded hurt, or offended, or maybe a bit of both.

“I assumed you’d be otherwise occupied by now.”

“Wasn't meant to be, I suppose.” He didn’t sound as regretful as Geralt thought he would. He gingerly touched his bruised cheek and winced. “And anyway, it’s one in the morning, Geralt. Just stay the night. The bed is big enough for the both of us.”

The bed was in fact large enough, a four-poster canopy with a thick mattress and velvet drapes. Geralt shuddered to look at it. The decadence made him uncomfortable, but also whispered to him of luxuries he had rarely experienced in his long life. His fingers itched to sink into the drapes, just to know what they felt like.

The thought of Jaskier in that bed, though. That spurred him into action. He backed slowly toward the door. “Do you know where the laundry is? I just need my clothes.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said firmly, his voice brooking no nonsense and causing Geralt to raise an eyebrow. “Take off your jacket and come in.”

Geralt took a fortifying breath and stepped further into the room. He shrugged out of the binding jacket and laid it on the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to touch the velvet. He fumbled with the buttons at the collar of his shirt, distracted from his task when he realized Jaskier was watching him with one arm hooked over the edge of the bathtub and his chin resting on his hand.

“You may not have cared for the outfit, Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, “but that color suits you perfectly.”

Geralt looked down. “It’s gray.”

“It’s like pearls, like smoke. It’s the color of fog rolling in from the sea.”

“Gray,” Geralt replied. Jaskier sighed and shook his head.

“You have no poetry in your soul,” Jaskier lamented, dipping his fingers into the water and watching the droplets fall. “Luckily you have me.”

“Hmm.”

“I didn’t really want to go back to her room,” Jaskier said, his voice oddly firm, surprising Geralt. “She was lovely enough, but...this bed. Have you looked at it? I wanted this bed.”

“You could have brought her back here.”

Jaskier huffed a little laugh. “I assumed you would be here.”

The implications of that hung heavy in the air between them.

“Come, bring me the soap,” Jaskier said, gesturing at the cabinet nearby, and for some reason Geralt obeyed. The water was dark by candlelight and obscured by steam, but Geralt raked his gaze over the surface anyway, searching for more. Jaskier caught him looking and his eyes widened, though he covered it quickly with a smirk. “It’s hard not to look, isn’t it?”

Geralt felt a flush creeping up his neck and turned away. He stared at the bed, trying to keep from turning back around, caught by the sight of forbidden things no matter where he looked.

“I don’t mind, you know.” Water lapped against the sides of the tub and the scent of sandalwood filled his lungs, heady and smooth. “You can look if you like.”

Geralt closed his eyes and wished for fortitude.

“It’s only fair. I looked at you.”

“What are you doing?” Geralt murmured, shaking his head, and he didn’t know whether he was talking to Jaskier or himself.

Water rushed and splashed as Jaskier stood up but didn’t step out of the bathtub, and Geralt squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, imagining the water running in channels down his skin. “Is it working?” Jaskier’s voice was soft and Geralt could hear just the slightest tremor in it.

Jaskier’s fingers soaked wet prints into the shoulder of Geralt’s silk shirt, gently turning him around. The blue in Jaskier’s eyes were just thin rings around a sea of black. He tucked his fingers into Geralt’s collar, leaving wet trails as he deftly, gently, unbuttoned the fabric. Geralt took a deep breath when the collar released his throat, feeling the cool air rush in over his wet skin. Jaskier’s fingers lingered there, warming against his collarbone.

“You can stop me anytime,” Jaskier said, and he smiled, just the slightest curve of his lips.

Geralt clenched his fists at his sides but stayed mute. Jaskier slowly, so very slowly, leaned in and laid a kiss just inside the vee of the open collar. His mouth made a slick sound when he pulled away, and Geralt’s head tipped back as he shivered. Jaskier moved on to his wrists, slipping the buttons free at the cuffs and pressing a kiss inside each wrist as he eased open Geralt’s fists. He wove his fingers between Geralt’s and flexed them until he relaxed.

“It’s only me,” he whispered against Geralt’s cheek.

And that was the problem, right there. There was no such thing as ‘only Jaskier.’ For all his protestations, Geralt knew the value of a friend like him, the only one such in his life, and how empty his world would be if he lost him. He also knew that he couldn’t want it, want him, in any capacity. His instinct was to push him away, not pull him closer. But that bed beckoned, and Jaskier’s naked skin, glistening wet, and his full cock hanging heavy, dripping.

It went against everything he believed, but he pulled against their tangled fingers until they collided and then his mouth was on Jaskier’s. He was still somehow startled, unsure how it had happened, but the damage was already done and he swallowed Jaskier’s trembling moan, licking at his wet lips. He abandoned Jaskier’s gripping hands in favor of sweeping his fingertips down Jaskier’s back, gathering beads of water as he went, stopping to hover lightly against his hip bones, just barely touching his skin.

“Let me,” Jaskier whispered against his mouth, “let me,” and Geralt didn’t know what he was agreeing to but he nodded anyway. Jaskier threaded his fingers through Geralt’s hair and held him still for a kiss that was deep and lush, an exploration that laid him bare.

Geralt tugged until Jaskier stumbled from the bathtub, sending water spilling over the floor. Geralt caught him up tightly, pressing his hips against Jaskier’s so that he could feel how hard Geralt was, how affected. They both shuddered and swayed together for a moment, breathing.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jaskier said, his voice low and rich. “I already know what you want. You want to watch me.”

Geralt’s breath stuttered in his chest as he thought of the bed, of Jaskier’s skin.

Then Jaskier was pulling away from him and reaching for a bath sheet. He dried himself languidly, sliding the sheet down his long legs while Geralt stood mesmerized. He dropped the sheet and walked toward the bed, glancing back at Geralt with hooded eyes, and Geralt followed in his wake.

The bed was shadowed within the open curtains, the firelight not quite reaching the recesses, and Jaskier glowed in silhouette as he crawled up the bed to recline against the pillows. His belly was a smooth plane under his caressing fingertips, his cock was a bright line that disappeared into his fist.

Geralt stopped at the foot of the bed and watched, drinking in the sight of Jaskier against the dark coverlet. He sank his fingers into the velvet drapes, unable to stop the almost inaudible groan that escaped him at the overwhelming pleasure of touch and sight. Jaskier grinned, a knowing flash of teeth, then he let out a gasp as his hand began to move on his cock.

“I pretend it’s you,” Jaskier said, all breath and rhythm. He stretched his other hand down to circle his balls, to drop lower and tease between his cheeks. “I always pretend it’s you. Your fingers on my body, inside me, your golden eyes watching me when I come.” He stretched and arched like a cat against his own touch, and Geralt’s eyes were drawn to the muscles of his calves, the way his musician’s fingers moved, deft and practiced.

Geralt’s hands tightened, wanting to touch him, not wanting to release the velvet. He felt the carved wood post behind the fabric and adjusted his grip to wrap around it, holding on to something solid. This wanting was dangerous. It skirted something very close to need, a thing he shouldn’t ever feel.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” Jaskier’s voice, always so smooth and sure, betrayed the slightest tremor of uncertainty. Of all the words that could describe the enigma that was Jaskier, ‘uncertain’ could not be said to be one of them.

Geralt frowned. The short answer was yes, the longer answer was no. Yes, he’d wanted to see Jaskier laid out on that bed. To watch him fall apart so hard he shook down to his foundations. No, he wanted to be far away from there, from the temptation of that complex desire.

He nodded, and Jaskier let out the breath he’d been holding. “Take off your shirt. I want to look too.”

Jaskier’s eyes glittered in the light as Geralt reluctantly let go of the fabric he’d been crushing in his fists and pulled the silk shirt over his head. It fell to the floor unheeded and he rested his hands on the buttons of his trousers. Jaskier nodded and Geralt pulled off his boots, then let his trousers slide to the floor. He let Jaskier look.

“Gods, Geralt. You’re beautiful,” Jaskier sighed, stroking himself harder, lifting his hips into it. The last of the water on his skin glistened in the candlelight.

Geralt flushed, glad of the darkness. He didn’t argue; he’d lost his voice entirely. He could do nothing but take in the feast for the senses spread before him and hope to survive it.

“Come up here,” Jaskier whispered, and Geralt crawled up the bed, his knees and palms sinking into velvet, until he could press himself against the softness of Jaskier’s skin. Jaskier’s arms came up to pull him down, cool limbs wrapping around him in an embrace that trapped and held, allowing no escape. Geralt felt weak against the pressure of Jaskier’s thighs around his, Jaskier’s cock against his belly.

Jaskier, never still, shoved at Geralt’s shoulder until they rolled together and Jaskier could press him down and get his mouth on Geralt’s collarbone. “Do you have any idea,” he purred, “how long I’ve wanted to taste this spot, right here?” He latched onto the hollow between bones, licking as he groaned. Geralt wasn’t sure what he tasted like, but it seemed to suit Jaskier so he tipped his head back and let him explore.

“Do you even know, Geralt, do you--” he whispered, and Geralt didn’t know, but Jaskier was biting a trail down his chest, little stinging nips over the ripples of his ribs, the curve of his stomach, and Geralt couldn’t find the words to ask. He hesitantly carded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, tugging it back out of his eyes, and Jaskier hummed his approval.

“You can touch me anywhere, Geralt. There’s nowhere I wouldn’t let you go.” He looked up at Geralt from where he’d been curling his tongue at Geralt’s navel, and Geralt’s cock twitched at the promise of more, at the need he shouldn’t feel.

Jaskier grinned, holding his gaze, then lowered his mouth around Geralt’s cock. Geralt tried not to arch upwards but mostly failed, and Jaskier held still like he’d been expecting it, like he wanted whatever Geralt was willing to give him. Geralt held his head and guided him, but so very gently, until Jaskier learned the rhythm he liked best, then he let go. Everything was greater in the dark, more intense, the pleasure winding deeper into his bones. He slid along a knife’s edge of desire, thrilled just to feel. For just a little while, he let himself want.

When Jaskier sat up, ruefully massaging his jaw, Geralt reached down to nudge Jaskier’s fingers out of the way. He ran his thumbs over the hinge of Jaskier’s jaw, around the shell of his ears, beneath the soft lobes. Jaskier watched with wide eyes, leaning into the touch. Slowly, as though afraid of startling Geralt, he leaned forward until he could kiss him, rolling until he was beneath him again, and Geralt pulled him tight. He hid his face in Jaskier’s neck, breathing sandalwood and the barely detectable scent of salty sweat gathering there.

“I want you to take me,” Jaskier said, winding his hands into the tangle of Geralt’s hair. “You can have all of me. I’m yours.”

Geralt bit his neck, terrified, exhilarated, and Jaskier hissed and rocked up into him. “Yes,” Geralt said, the only word he knew anymore. He dragged his mouth across stubbled skin to steal a kiss from Jaskier’s lips, dipping his tongue and tasting traces of his own bitter flavor and sweet wine faintly lingering there. Jaskier clutched him and opened his mouth, welcoming Geralt inside.

Geralt pulled Jaskier’s thigh higher against his hip, stretching him until Jaskier gasped and dug his fingernails into Geralt’s shoulders. He ran his palm down the back of Jaskier’s thigh until he reached what he was searching for, the sweetly furled hole, perfectly textured against his fingertips. Jaskier shuddered in his arms and he made an effort to relax when Geralt pressed with a testing finger, not yet entering.

“There’s oil in my pack,” he said, his voice trembling, his lips moving against Geralt’s jaw.

Geralt nodded and gently pulled away, reluctant to let go. The velvet beneath his knees seduced him; the smooth, cold stone of the floor was a jarring contrast that shook unwelcome reality into Geralt’s mind. He questioned his sanity, he regretted everything before it even happened, he searched for and found the oil in Jaskier’s pack anyway and returned to the bed.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, and beckoned him back. His voice soothed Geralt’s unease, teasing him back to his purpose. He spread his thighs and lifted his hips, utterly open to Geralt’s view. Jaskier took the oil from his clutching hand and spread some on his own fingers, slipping down to press into his hole, quickly and impatiently. He hissed in a breath and closed his eyes, rocking against his hand.

“Let me,” Geralt whispered, and Jaskier shook his head ‘no.’

“Watch me,” he replied, and Geralt wrapped his fingers around Jaskier’s ankle, seeking touch.

Jaskier gradually opened himself up, biting his lip until it bloomed red while Geralt watched, until Geralt couldn’t wait any longer and slid his fingers down Jaskier’s thigh to join in the gently thrusting rhythm. When Geralt slipped one finger in beside Jaskier’s two, Jaskier threw his head back and moaned; when Geralt added another Jaskier made a sound like he was dying, pushed to his limit.

“Fuck,” Jaskier said, his voice tight and trembling. “Don’t make me wait.”

Geralt shuddered and leaned over him, bracing himself on one arm while he spread Jaskier’s thighs with the other. He lined up his cock and pushed inexorably forward until he was trapped inside slick heat and unbearably perfect pressure. He watched Jaskier’s face for discomfort but saw only pleasure in the furrow of his brow, in the open, bitten lips as he gasped for breath.

He began to move and Jaskier rocked against him, matching him thrust for eager thrust, chasing his own pleasure and driving Geralt toward his. “Gods,” Jaskier groaned, his fingers digging into Geralt’s shoulders, “you couldn’t be more perfect if you tried. Look at me. You’re like the sun.”

Geralt didn’t understand him, which wasn’t unusual, but he saw the burning intensity in Jaskier’s eyes and he understood that well enough, because he was feeling the same thing. His peak was approaching too fast so he pulled out, to a wail of protest from Jaskier, but then he flipped Jaskier over onto his knees and guided his hands to grip the wood post.

“Don’t let go,” he growled in Jaskier’s ear, and Jaskier nodded jerkily. Geralt steadily thrust back in and Jaskier arched his back with a cry, his knuckles going white on the post. Geralt let himself sink into the decadence of the bed beneath him and the silken skin under his hands, his languid rocking causing Jaskier to sway into the post that he braced himself against.

Geralt paused to slick more oil onto his cock and ran his fingers between Jaskier’s cheeks, dripping oil there and guiding it inside him while Jaskier’s breathing hitched and his muscles fluttered around Geralt’s fingers.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, desperation turning his dulcet voice into a throaty rasp, “come back.”

He obeyed, slipping back inside so smoothly that they both groaned together. Jaskier pushed against the bedpost and took Geralt even deeper, urging him into a different rhythm, one that would surely take him over the edge too soon. He fought against the way Jaskier was driving him, trying to slow him down, but Jaskier was having none of it.

“Take me,” he urged, dropping his head between his braced arms. “Take me, make me feel it, give me everything.”

“Not yet,” Geralt protested, gripping Jaskier’s hips and holding him still.

“Go slowly next time, Geralt,” he said with a strained laugh, shifting his knees on the coverlet, clearly trying to get some leverage.

“Next time,” Geralt repeated, and it was a question even if it didn’t sound like one.

Jaskier grew still under his hands. “If you want it.”

He couldn’t want it, shouldn’t want it. Geralt swallowed, stroking oil-slippery fingers over the small of Jaskier’s back. “I want it.”

Jaskier sighed softly. “Then take me now, just let go. I need you.”

Everything that Geralt had been holding back, all the passion he’d been hoarding like a miser, trying to stretch it thin and make it last, came rushing out of him and he fucked into Jaskier with abandon. He held Jaskier’s hips and made him take it, while Jaskier cried out, barely intelligible words escaping him, so that all Geralt understood was that he was giving Jaskier exactly what he’d demanded and more. He drove into him again and again, as deep as he could go, until Jaskier went silent save for gasping breaths and came without being touched, his every muscle clenching, forcing Geralt to follow him down as sparks burst behind his eyes and Jaskier sagged in his arms.

They rolled away from the mess and sank into the softness of the bed, Jaskier arranging his heavy limbs all over Geralt’s body in a proprietary way that didn’t surprise Geralt at all. He wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s back and held him closer than he should, longer than he ought to, needing him although he couldn’t.

“So,” Jaskier said, and let that hang in the air.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, closing his eyes tightly, wanting him again, even now.

“That’s been a long time coming.”

“Years, I think.”

“Many years,” Jaskier agreed, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s chin.

Geralt held him closer.

“We’ve utterly ruined this fabric.”

“Completely.”

“You know, there are sheets underneath all this,” Jaskier pointed out.

“No,” Geralt replied. He stretched every muscle and then relaxed, feeling the velvet cradle him from head to toe, knowing that he’d never again touch velvet without thinking of Jaskier.

Jaskier gave a euphoric little laugh. “I never would have imagined you as hedonistic.”

“I’m not,” Geralt protested.

“Evidence to the contrary,” Jaskier said, waving a hand around that Geralt assumed was meant to encompass all that had occurred that night.

“I’m not allowed to be,” he clarified, feeling guilt crowd its way into his chest, closing his throat.

Jaskier sat up and stared at him. “Who says?”

“It’s not our way.”

“Geralt of Rivia, you are allowed to be whatever and whoever you are. Especially with me. Don’t hide yourself away because you think you should.”

Geralt shook his head stubbornly. “I can’t afford to have luxuries. Distractions are dangerous.”

Jaskier bit his lip and looked at him for a long time. “Am I a luxury? A distraction?”

His silence spoke for him, he could see it in Jaskier’s eyes.

“Oh, love,” Jaskier said shakily, kissing him. “You’ve always had me, and we’re both still here.”

Geralt’s fingers clenched without his permission, digging into Jaskier’s skin in a way that had to be painful, but Jaskier didn’t flinch, just kept kissing him until Geralt kissed back. He pulled until Jaskier shifted to straddle his hips, bearing him down into the bed with his hands braced on Geralt’s shoulders.

“Do you want to be here?” he asked abruptly.

Geralt nodded.

“Do you want me?” Jaskier leaned down and brushed his lips over Geralt’s, barely a kiss.

“Yes,” Geralt replied, licking his lips to chase the taste of Jaskier’s mouth.

“It’s that simple,” Jaskier said softly. “You can have this. I give you permission. Now give it to yourself. Make your own way.”

Geralt looked into his eyes, the blue in them washed out by candlelight but the familiar clarity still glinting there. It wasn’t as simple as Jaskier was making it out to be, but perhaps it needn’t be so difficult either. He lay there while Jaskier combed his fingers through the tangle of Geralt’s hair strewn over the pillows, simply meeting Jaskier’s eyes. He saw no guile there, no temptation, just the honest expression of friendship.

No, not friendship. He recognized the same look he always saw when Jaskier looked at him, but now suddenly he realized that it had never been only friendship. It had been devotion all along.

He caught Jaskier’s hand in his and pressed a kiss to his palm. “And if my way is with you?”

“It has always been,” Jaskier said, grinning. “I’ve just been waiting for you to see it too.”

Geralt leaned up on his elbows and kissed him hard, pressing his answer into Jaskier’s mouth. The movement rocked Jaskier back and his eyes widened.

“Again?” he asked delightedly, rubbing the cleft of his ass against Geralt’s cock.

“Still,” he replied, letting Jaskier move deliberately against him, dropping his head back in pleasure when Jaskier bit his lip and carefully lowered himself onto Geralt’s cock, still slick and easy.

Jaskier laughed breathlessly and it was like music. Geralt let him set the pace, gentle and languorous, moving with gravity instead of against it. “Love,” Jaskier murmured, the second time he’d used that word, “lay back for me. That’s it.”

Geralt relaxed into the pillows, gliding his palms up Jaskier’s ribs to thumb at his nipples, to rake softly through the chest hair that had always caught his eye through the unbuttoned collars of embroidered shirts. He wished he had Jaskier’s gift of crafting the perfect set of words together to make poetry, because in that moment with Jaskier moving over him, enclosing him, holding him down, Geralt could see beauty itself in everything his eyes touched. The column of Jaskier’s throat, the pulse beating visibly there, held more perfection than every glorious thing he’d seen in his long life.

He couldn’t speak it, couldn’t verbalize through his love-choked throat, but he could catch Jaskier’s eye and hold it, could sink into something greater than pleasure and let it show on his face.

Jaskier, ever perceptive, smiled. Geralt thought suddenly of destiny, and just for a moment allowed himself to consider it. Then Jaskier was guiding him toward flashes of brightness, weaving his fingers with Geralt’s and holding on as though he intended never to let him go, and Geralt realized it didn’t matter at all. Everything he’d ever believe in, every path he’d ever follow was in the curve of Jaskier’s lips, the grip of his hands, the shine of his gaze.

And Geralt, who’d never needed anything before, let himself gaze back.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I suffer from haptodysphoria, a fear of touching velvet. This story was en exercise in exquisite torture.


End file.
